


Libertatem a Deus

by einfach_mich



Category: Spartacus: Vengeance
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-19
Updated: 2012-05-19
Packaged: 2017-11-03 23:08:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/einfach_mich/pseuds/einfach_mich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an AU (kind of crossover fic) where Spartacus and the other rebels are angels fighting for freedom from servitude to god. They kicked off a second war in heaven and threaten the very foundation of creation. </p><p>Now, god will stop at nothing to end the war and bring his servants home, including sending a Nephilim by the name of Nasir to kill the Bringer of Death (Spartacus). Agron is one of Spartacus’ generals, and the angel known as “fire of the lord.” </p><p>Warning: This story could be considered offensive or sacrilegious to individuals of faith.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Book I: He who has no name

  


**Book I**

**He who has no name**

_The first war was born out of a sin of hubris. One who sought to steal the throne, now forever swallows sulfur and regret for reaching beyond his own grasp. Such is the payment for betrayal.  
  
Heaven was once again at peace and the servants of the word toiled in devoted obedience. Yet, the sin of the Light Bringer planted a seed of doubt within the minds of the remaining host. Soon an unspoken question began to take root within the thoughts of even the most loyal.  
  
What are we if we do not serve?   
  
The Bringer of death,  courier of souls, never once questioned his duty or loyalty to his maker. Truly his sin was born out of charity and love. It was he who first took a daughter of man as his wife.   
  
She was a fierce woman who challenged his authority when he took the soul of her newborn child. The woman charged the angel armed with little more than a dagger and grief fueled rage. Her courage and passion caught the angel’s attention.   
  
He who had no name, for the lord choose not to name death, received the angry blows of the grieving mother. His heart heavy with sympathy for her loss. And in a moment of weakness, he sought to soothe her grief with a kiss.   
  
The Bringer of death took the mortal woman as his wife and soon her belly was swollen with a new child, a gift from her husband. This new gift of life was also a grievous sin, that carried death to all who pursued a marriage between the bloodlines of men and god. The Nephilim were feared for their power and chaotic nature. Demon children beholden to lord or master, they were long believed to be harbingers of End of Days, and are marked for death by decree of god. They are  to be killed upon sight. And so it was when god learned of the sin of his angel he sent out Batiatus, the wielder of the sword of god to rid the world of the child and its mother.  
  
Enraged by the murder of his wife and child, the Bringer of death cut down Batiatus and renounced his allegiance to god. Those who had waited and wondered if they two could taste the sweet uncertainty of freedom rose up to stand with their brother. Their numbers swelled to account for half the host of heaven, because even angels dislike the oppression of slavery.   
  
And so it was that the death of a mortal woman and her unborn child lead to the second war in heaven.  _

_  
_

][  ][  ][  ][  ][

  


  
Nasir closes the book, sighing heavily at what he just read. It didn’t answer his questions, but it might come in handy later down the road. At least this wasn’t a totally waste of his time.  
  
“See, I told you it was valuable,” the sniveling flying rat hisses from where Nasir nailed him to the wall with silver stakes.   
  
“Yeah, it should come in handy for my Comparative religion class,” Nasir replies, picking up his shotgun and tucking the worn book into his jacket. “You on the other hand...not so useful.”  
  
“Wait!” The bug-eyed angel shrieks as the smell of sulfur filled the air and the feathers of his purple wings tinged gray. “I have connections in the underworld. I can get your more information, I swear.”  
  
Nasir shakes his head, far from impressed by the talking chicken’s pleas to be spared. He has put down enough of these fuckers to know this little song and dance. Angels were more than capable of lying with as much skill as a human, some even more skilled if they were tainted by the Fallen, as this one has been. Alas, the desperate lies pouring forth from this vulture were transparent and little pathetic. Standing her while it blathers is just a ways of Nasir’s time.   
  
He cocked the shotgun aimed it at the angel’s chest and fired. It’s chest explodes in a shower of blood and flesh. A gaping hole opens up in the angel’s chest revealing it’s still beating heart.   
  
The angel thrashes against the stake, while it laughs angel and screams. “Your moral weapons can’t kill me.”   
  
“That wasn’t meant to kill you,” Nasir says with a menacing smirk.  
  
He steps forward to reach inside the open chest cavity, wraps his hand around the fisted sized heart of the angel and yanks it free. “I’m in a hurry and don’t have time to cut you open.”  
  
He shoves the heart into his mouth, working it down his throat and manages to only gag once. It tastes like ash and shit, but he can feel the power surge through him. The angel’s eyes widen as his body begins to smolder and shake. This too is a familiar dance. Fucking angels, so used to immortality they forget that there are creatures more than capable of killing them.   
  
“Nephilim!” The dying angel hisses as it burst into flames.   
  
Nasir smiles, wiping the blood from his lips with the back of his gloved hand and summons up enough saliva to spit in the face of the charred face of the former servant of god. The corset sizzles and writhes like a damned soul upon the pyres of the Pit. The putrid defectors are no better than the talking monkeys walking this shitball called Earth. Those who have forsaken the word, and seek to live  free .   
  
He swallowed the bile that word summons, and slid on his sunglasses, while the small cabin became engulfed in flames. Freedom is overrated. A shadow and a lie. The only true purpose, only real freedom was in the service of the lord. To give one’s self over to his will and take your place within his plan.  
  
Nasir steps out of the burning building, holstering his shotgun in the sheath on his back and pulling out the keys to his Impala from the front pocket of his jeans. The sleek black skin of his Chevy reflects the flames of the fire, as if to betraying isn’t true form.   
  
War, the flaming stallion of the lord wears this metal form in order to better pass unnoticed in the mortal world. The fire elemental is a good companion, if an impatient one. The creature dislikes sitting idle while Nasir partakes in bloodshed. Nasir wipes his blood stained gloved hand over the hood and felt the engine rumble to life in appreciation for the gift.   
  
As Nasir drove away in search of the interstate he yawns, wondering how much time he had lost chasing after the lower level angel. He was sure they was close to locating the rebels and their leader who had the audacity to take of a human name. Spartacus, the liberator of the host.   
  
“Fucking Angels!” Nasir laughs at angels’ pretentious bullshit.  
  
He didn’t fear the Bringer of death or any of  the Seraphim who fought beside him. Nasir would kill them all, for his master the lord and win his place in heaven beside his dead mother. Even if it meant he has to drag them all to hell himself.

 


	2. Book II: Sisters to the Fate

**Book II**

**Sisters to the Fate**

_Lilith, first wife of Adam, first woman, sister, wife and first to defy god. She refused to submit to her husband and the dominion of god. She left the Garden, preferring the darkness of the unknown world to enslavement._

 

_ As punishment for her defiance the lord cursed upon her. For every day she did not return one hundred of her child would die. Lilith in return begat children as clouds begat rain. Showering the world with her daughters and setting them to feed upon the souls of men.  _

_ Henceforth they were known as the Lilim, sisters to the Fate. Harbingers of despair and woe. She demons that feed upon desire and ambition, leaving mortal men hollow and lifeless in their wake. _

_ In the time of the second war in heaven, the lord sent out a message to the daughters of Lilith, calling for an alliance against the Bringer of death and promising an end to their mother’s curse. For if one of the Lilim assisted in the capture or death of the Bringer of death the deaths of their sisters would cease for all eternity.  _

_ And yet again love turned the tides of war. _

][  ][  ][  ][  ][

  
The rhythmic thumping of the music reverberates through his body, rattling his bones and making his ears ring. Nasir hates night clubs. Sweat slick bodies sliding over one another like serpents, in a simulated orgy of ritual movement with no true purpose. Wasted power gifted to the sour air and rainbow colored lights. 

It was a carnival of perversity, from the virginal girls barely blossoming in their womanhood painted up like whores to the over-fed, elderly men ineffectually disguised as veril youth. The feigned mating ritual that resulted in the needless spilling of seed and the corruption of innocence. Everything about it insulted the divine and made Nasir want to burn the entire building to the ground.

A leather-clad siren slithers up against his side, her blood-red nails tracing patterns upon his back chest and her painted lips press against his ear. “Want to party, pretty boy?”

He wrapped his hand around her throat, lifting her off the ground with ease despite the fact her heels made her taller than him. None of the patrons took any notice of them or that he was now levitating a foot off the dance floor. The woman chokes out a curse, her eyes shift from a pleasing green to a glowing yellow, as power poured over her skin. He can feel it calling out to her sisters and senses them closing in around him, but he doesn’t take his eyes of his captive.

Lilim are incredibly powerful and extremely dangerous especially when in groups, but they have one weakness. They cared deeply for each other. The death of a sister is felt by all, and mourned by all. 

“Call them off or I will end you right here, right now,” he speaks in a low tone that can barely be heard over the pounding music by human ears, but he knows she hears his words and the threat behind him. 

He waits and soon feels her power retreat inside her body, while the sickly sweet scent of her sisters dissipates as they retreat. Satisfied he returns her feet to the ground, but does not release his grip upon her throat. Instead her closes it tighter, letting her feel the press of his power and stares unflinching into her glowing, golden eyes. 

“Take me to your lieutenant and if you or your kin fuck with me again I will devour every last one of you.” He leans in close and licks a line along her cheek for emphasis and looks her in the eyes again. “Do they all taste as sweet as you do?”

She shrinks from his gaze, a tremor running through her body and lowers her eyes to the ground. There is no mistaking what he is and the full meaning of his threat. All mystical creatures know of the voracious appetites of his kind. Soul eaters, many call them, but in truth only the lord possesses the power to truly destroy a soul. Nephilim only take power and few are strong enough to fight them off, certainly not the daughters of Lilith. 

He releases her, taking petty delight in her clumsy scramble to stand. She quickly recovers a semblance of her grace and gestures for him to follow her. They walk through the shifting sea of bodies, which part before them. When they reached the back of the club she stops in front of a large booth lined in golden leather and beautiful men. 

They stand like jewels set on display for all to see, but none to touch. Each one turns his eyes to fix upon Nasir, their expressions darkening. He glances at each one and smirks, amused by their threaten glares. They are not his concern, the golden haired angel seated at the center of the booth with sapphire eyes is who he is seeking. A lieutenant in the lord’s army and much to Nasir’s surprise a female. 

Female angels are rare and those who rise in the ranks of the host even more so. From what Nasir knew of them they were treacherous as snakes and clever as the father of lies himself. This one leans a slender elbow upon the table in front of her and cradles her chin her hand, an amused expression on her ethereally beautiful face.  

“What have we here?” Her voice soft as the caress of a feather to the skin still carries over the music with ease, bring with it overwhelming, waves of power. “An abomination in the company of a whore. How apropos.”

“He made me bring him,” the daughter of Lilith pleads, pulling away from Nasir and going on her knees. “Ilithyia please forgive me. He said he would kill my sisters.”

“Silence, Sepia before your sniveling incites me to kill your sisters myself,” the angel spat, waving her hand and two of her guards quickly usher the she demon away. 

“Lower beings, so tedious,” She sighs, returning her attention to Nasir, who continues to stand his ground and holds her gaze. 

The crushing weight of her power makes him light-headed with hunger. It calls to him as all of her kin does. Their power is the most enticing, the most flavorful and the mere whiff of it makes his mouth water. He schools himself, focusing his mind and finally spoke. “I seek information that could lead to the location of Spartacus.”

“Do you think if I knew his location I would be here getting monkey sweat on my new suit?” Ilithyia snaps, tossing her hair over her shoulder and rolling her eyes. “I have no such information and very little patience for half breeds who do not know their station. Be gone.” 

“It is not information about Angels but rather the location of some humans,” Nasir stepped closer, slowly reaching into his jacket to produce the book he had procured from the lower angel the previous day. “It is said that Bringer of death was not the only of the Seraphim to take human lives. Some of these women were taken as prisoners of war. Is this true?”

The angel’s eyes lock on the book in his hand, her expression turning grave and almost fearful. “Where did you get that?”

Nasir steps back, returning the book to his jacket and reaches for his short sword at his hip. “I do not seek a quarrel. I only wish to answers.”

“I do not answer questions for demon seed,” Ilithyia shouts, sending the table crashing into the far wall with a slap of her hand. “I am Ilithyia, guardian of the beauty of the lord. I am a daughter of the one true god and I demand to know how you came by that book!”

It is too late to rue the mistake of coming to an angel for information or the pity those who were about to pay for her egotism. He has just enough time to act before she closes the distance and tears out his heart. His sword slides from its scabbard with ease and finds a new home in the chest of the nearest guard. While the guard screams, Nasir pulls a grenade from his belt and tossed it at the golden haired angel staring at him. 

He has enough time to smile at the irony that at least one trait is universal among men and angels. They always, instinctively catch anything that is thrown to them. He turns, feet moving with inhuman speed toward the nearest exit as the explosion rocks the club, engulfing the back half in flames. Fire licks a this jacket and singes his hair, but he escapes to the cool embrace of the night air before it can catch him. 

As he climbs into the Impala, the fiery creature rumbles to life and burns a trial rubber as it takes him away from the sound of sirens. War is restless, the creature makes jerking movements as it weaves through traffic and puts them onto the interstate. Nasir runs his hand over the dashboard, whispering words of comfort and decides to one last source. 

He takes the wheel, steering them toward the nearest exit so they can turn around and head south. When last he had heard whispers of her, they spoke of her following the southern wind, along the coast. Nasir would head south until he reached the coast and trust the lord to aid them in finding what they seek.

It is a long shot, many believed the Oracle of Delphi was mad, but wouldn’t a human have to be in order to speak to the gods? 


	3. Book III: The Curse of the Oracle

 

****

**Book III**

****

**The Curse of the Oracle**

 

  
_From humble beginnings rose one of the greatest mortal beauties ever to walk the Earth. A simple shepherd's daughter, born to a third wife, was of little consequence, even to her family. Her features were unremarkable, though her countenance was pleasing to all who beheld the child._   
  
_Her fate was forever changed when she wandered too close to a steaming fissure and fell inside. The child’s screams were heard for leagues, drawing many to come to her aid, but to no avail. All who drew close were sprayed with smoke and scalding hot water. The humble shepherd and his wife kept vigil beside the fissure, praying for the lord's mercy to save their daughter or to end her suffering._   
  
_An angel took pity upon their grief and plucked the girl from the boiling pit. He set her blistered body before her parents, a poor answer to their prayers. Yet they showered him with gratitude all the same, placing kisses upon his feet and praised the lord for the blessing._   
  
_The angel dismissed the praise of the girl’s parents, his heart heavy with grief at the sight of the child’s suffering. The child was badly burned and close to death, but she managed to give the angel a small, twisted smile and whispered a single word._   
  
_Gratitude._   
  
_So moved was the angel he kneeled beside the child, placing a tender kiss upon her brow. Tears slid from his eyes and bathed the child's broken form. Before he departed he whispered something in her ear and placed one final kiss upon her lips._   
  
_The child fell into a strange sleep for thirty days and thirty nights. And when at last she roused, her wounds were healed. She emerged from her family's tent and all who laid eyes upon her gasped and fell to their knees. Her body had not just been healed; she had been transformed. Hair like a crimson flame, eyes as bright as a summer sky, and skin smooth, flawless._   
  
_Her beauty rivaled any woman and even some gods. The angel had given her life and beauty, both precious gifts. But even more precious he had given her his name. A secret to keep in her heart until his return to her side again._   
  
_It was on Lucretia's name day, when she was to be welcomed into womanhood and betrothed to a man of wealth and distinction, that she called out the name of her angel and savior, Batiatus. Drunk on her own beauty and the adoration of others, the girl believed she could seduce the servant of god and escape a loveless marriage._   
  
_When the angel appeared before her, equally as powerless before her beauty, she committed the worst of all sins: she turned the attention of a god’s servant away from his duty and stole it for her own. Batiatus lay with the girl for thirty days and thirty nights, captivated by her beauty and power._   
  
_And when the brothers finally came for him, they found Lucretia’s belly already swelling with child. God’s wrath was swift and terrible. Batiatus pleaded for the life of the girl, still lovesick for the sight of her, and was granted his desire. But the life of the abomination within her womb was the price for the woman’s life._   
  
_It was the wielder of the sword of god who was charged with removing his child from her lover’s belly and casting her out into the waste to walk forever cursed for her arrogance._   
  
_Lucretia, beloved daughter and brightest desert flower, known far and wide as a blessed beauty, was cursed to carry the stain of her folly and to know the path before her feet touched the ground, forever. Never to die. Never to live._ _  
  
_ _For love was her savior and love was her damnation._   


][  ][  ][  ][  ][

  
Nasir steps out of the Impala, the sweet stench of garbage and the salty scent of the ocean slaps him in the face like a filthy, damp rag. He gently pushes the car door closed, zipping up his leather jacket and lifting the collar to ineffectually block the biting wet wind. The sun is slowly sinking into the horizon, casting the beach in contrasting shards of golden light and murky shadows. His eyes trace the line of the shore till it disappears into the rotting, jagged ruins of a long abandoned pier.    
  
From the darkness beneath the broken husk of the structure, he could feel her power. It shone like a thrumming beacon, calling to him. He could feel the hunger to feed coiling inside him, urging him to get closer.    
  
Nasir wonders if he should bring a grenade with him. The book spoke of the Oracle’s powers as formidable enough to bring Angels to their knees. Though, he is perfectly capable of doing the same himself. So he supposes his sword and pistol should be enough to stave off the attack of a pretty woman. Even one gifted with beauty and prophecy.   
  
As he takes a step forward the Impala’s engine suddenly rumbles to life and lurches forward an inch in an endearingly protective gesture. War has grown protective to his small passenger and fears the young soul is not prepared for the danger that lurks in the shadows ahead. Nasir smiles at the creature’s display of affection.    
  
He pulls off his glove to press his naked palm to the warm metal and gives the creature a soothing pat. “I will be all right, my friend.” 

  
The rumbling dies down to a soft vibration, but a sharp clicking continues to sound, like an instant warning. Nasir nods, returning his hand to his glove, and shakes his head slightly. A sigh of laughter slips through his lips as he walks toward the shadowy pier.    
  
Her power grows stronger the closer he gets. It is strange and potent with a brittle kind of bitterness. True harpies do not feel this rife with resentment and hate. It thickens the air around him, leaving the acerbic taste of bile at the base of his throat and forcing him to breathe shallowly to avoid gagging. Even if it were Nasir’s desire to taste her power, it was so rank with regret and despair he would never be able to stomach it.    
  
The sound of soft humming greets his ears, sending a chill through him that had no relation to the cold wind pushing at his back. In the darkness he could make out a lumpy form moving around a pile of garbage. He steps closer to help his eyes focus on her, even as her power plugged his nose with its rotten stench and made his eyes water.    
  
“Lucretia?” He spoke her name, willing his voice to stay steady as her power spiked and an icy knife of fear based power cut through him.    
  
The fear was not his own, as was not the sour stench of urine that swirled around him. A scuttling sound drew his attention to the ground, where a mass of small, furry bodies swarmed around his feet. Their tiny claws and teeth scratched at his boots.   
  
“Who seeks the Oracle?” A low, raspy voice echoes around him, while he tries to step backward out of the center of the seething mass of rats. “To move is to die, little angel.”   
  
“I am no angel!” Nasir snaps, but halts his movements as he is met with cackling laughter.   
  
The huddled mass rises and turns to loom over him, revealing more layers of filthy rags crowned with a malformed bonnet. A single dirt-stained, plastic daisy sticks out of the side of the hat at an odd angle, giving the impression of a lone antenna on a fabric cockroach. The head lifts up, but the face is caked in dirt and masked by clouds of frizzy, dull hair.    
  
“You are no son of man,” she croaks, a stained hand rising to point a broken fingernail at him. “You stink of heaven and earth...and _desire_.”   
  
She tilts her head up, hand shifting the brim of the hat, and her eyes came into view. Blazing sapphires set upon him, mesmerizing him with their haunting perfection. Nasir read the book, knew the tales of her beauty, but to experience it was an entirely different thing.    
  
He had never been particularly captivated by mortal women, or any female for that matter. Yet, this creature’s eyes call to him, reaching into the depth of his heart and deeper. His soul shudders, urging him to go to her, to wash the dirt from her face and behold her beauty whole and unsullied. He could see himself caring for her, holding her to his chest and soothing her wounds with heartfelt words of kindness.    
  
“Heaven’s bastards fall as easily as her true born sons,” she sighs, her eyes closing and turns back to her pile of garbage.   
  
The feeling lessens with the absence of her gaze, but Nasir can still sense her power hooking into his soul and begging him to yield to her need, whatever shape it may take. It is an intoxication of sorts, unlike any he has felt before. He inwardly curses his foolishness at underestimating her power.    
  
“Speak your purpose before I grow weary of your presence,” she croaks, waving a thin hand at him, her cracked and broken nails turned black from dirt and disuse.   
  
“I seek information about the Celestial Sisters,” he answers, sliding his hand inside his pocket to touch the worn cover of the book with his fingers.   
  
She snaps her attention back to glare at him, her gaze filled with suspicion and rage. “Who told you of the Graces?”    
  
““This says that they were imprisoned at the start of the second war, but it does not divulge the location,” he replies, pulling the book out of his pocket and holding it up, hoping to draw her burning gaze away from his face.    
  
Lucretia’s eyes shift to the worn cover of the book in his hand and her eyes narrow, brow knitted. A look of fury overtakes her features and she straightens, rising to stand at a towering height. Her eyes blaze with power and rage as they return to gaze upon the Nasir. A sea of small furry bodies swarms around her feet and begin to climb up her clothing, creating a living, shifting coat of rats. “What manner of folly would lead a creature who stinks of the Jehovah to set foot in my domain, demanding knowledge of women who have been cursed by his own master?”    
  
She hisses each word, the sound stinging him with each syllable and driving him further down to the ground. Nasir goes to his knees, crippled by the weight of her power. It stifles him, choking his throat and causing him to gag. He closes his eyes, struggling against crushing force of it, hands clawing at the moist sand for purchase.   
  
“Mercy,” he gasps, desperately fighting to focus his mind.    
  
Lucretia laughs loudly, stepping forward to take hold of Nasir’s hair and forcing his head back. “I’ve long forgotten the meaning of the word.”   
  
She draws a jagged fingernail down his cheek, and pulls her lips back in a black toothed smile. Despite her grotesque appearance and overpowering stench, Nasir still feels compelled to please her; such is the nature of her power. 

 

“Apologies!” He chokes, his eyes wide with sincerity as he continues to sputter. “I beg you, please...”   
  
A tear slips from the corner of his eye, trailing down his cheek to her cracked fingernail. Lucretia stops to dip her finger in the spot of moisture and touches it to her tongue. She closes her eyes, sucking air in a sharp gasp between her teeth. Her fingers tighten in his hair, pulling painfully at his scalp.   
  
She opens her eyes to reveal a shining obsidian gaze, her power explodes and washes over Nasir, burning through his skin. “You seek death and death you will find. The fire and fury of the lord will fall at your feet, but no peace will be found until what is most precious is sacrificed. True freedom can only be won with death.”

 

Her black, shining eyes focus on him and he feels a spike of burning energy cut through his mind. “Fear not, little angel. You will cross the threshold of heaven as you so desperately wish and she will be there to greet you.”   
  
Her words echo through his skull, like a tidal wave ravaging dry land. He shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the hold of her power and the memories it calls to the surface of his mind. Nasir fights her grip, taking hold of her hand and tearing out his own hair to get free.   
  
But it is too late. The screaming is already in his head. The blood curdling sound of his own mother screeching his name, the pain of a sword slash across his hand, burning his skin. Hot tears roll down his cheeks as he watches them cut her open, spilling her life in a gush of red across the dessert floor. Their beautiful faces split with righteous grins as their snow white wings beat at the air and lift them into the sky. The hot rain of his mother’s blood showers down upon his face while he cries out for her, his arms outstretched.    
  
Nasir vomits into the foaming ocean water, tears stinging his eyes while the salt spray spits in his face. Ashur was right; he is a fool. A child playing at being a warrior and he would pay for this folly with his life. The promise of heaven and a reunion with his mother was a foolish dream that has now gotten him killed.   
  
He stares at the water washing over his knees, wondering why she doesn’t take his life. Is it some kind of torture, a trick? The ache in his chest and throat assures him it must be. Then she speaks.   
  
“It was called The Cleansing,” she croaks, her melodic voice gone, but he suspect her powers had not waned in the slightest. “It was part of the first wave of battle. Those seraphim who remained loyal to Jehovah where tasked with hunting down all the mortal wives and children of the rebels. Many were cut down. You were fortunate to escape their swords, one of only a few I know who did...”   
  
Suddenly, she is kneeling beside him and holding out the book in her dirty hands. He takes it from her and sliding it back into his pocked while she dips her hands into the water. She rubs at her skin, her hands trembling with the effort what should be a simple task. Her power tugs at him, driving him to assist her. He takes hold of her hands and gently wipes the dirt away while she continues the speak.   
  
“The three Graces were special.” Her laugh is sharp, almost sarcastic. “The brightest and most beautiful of the wives, worshiped as goddess by other mortals. They were taken by Gaius, the new leader of Heaven’s host. Two of the Bringer of Death’s own were cut down when the wives were taken.”   
  
Her hands were pale and pink from the friction but finally clean. As he cradles them within his own hands he finds himself marveling at their delicate beauty. Nasir wonders how long it would take to wash all the filth from her, to reveal her true beauty, and the thought causes him to shiver with delight.    
  
“Look at me, little angel,” she whispers, her fingers tugging at his chin and forcing him meet her eyes.    
  
Her mesmerizing sapphire eyes distract him again, causing him to wonder if she has always had such beautiful, perfect eyes. He smiles, wishing he could take away the sadness within them. She frowns at him, even that gesture seems flawless.    
  
The slap it sharp and painful. His thoughts are scrambled for a second, but he feels his mind take hold again as he looks at her. Her dirt-smudged face is set in an expression of irritation. “We’ve no time for you to moon over me, little bastard. Your steed awaits and so does the rebel army.”   
  
Nasir stiffens at her words, purpose flooding back into him. “You know where Spartacus is?”   
  
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “But you will find them soon enough. Seek out the last living Grace. She holds the key to what will follow next.”   
  
“Where may I find her?” He takes hold of her hands, desperate to get any scrap of information she has, his hopes rekindling before his eyes.    
  
“In the city of the doomed lover,” she answers, rising and shaking off his hands. “In the city of sinners.”     
  
“I don’t understand,” he pleads, stumbling to his feet and turning to find her bent over the barrel again. “Is it two different cities or a city within a city?”   
  
She doesn’t look up. “Both.”   
  
Defeated, he begins to make his way out of the water and onto the damp sand. He stops short, turning back to look at her broken, dirty form. “You don’t have to live like this.”   
  
She glances at him over her shoulder and gives him a sad smile. “You are very sweet, under all this armor. I can see why he loves you.”   
  
“Who?” Nasir asks, confused.   
  
“You will see, little angel, you will see.” She turns back to her barrel.

  
Nasir stares at her back for a long moment before finally walking away. His boots make a wet, squelching sound with each step, and the Impala rumbles to life, flashing the headlights repeatedly in a manner that indicates great displeasure. War did not like to carry wet passengers. It is a very real possibility that the damn creature would make Nasir walk until his clothes were dry.    
  
Well, at least he was still alive...for now. 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspirational credit for the items in this chapter are listed in a no particular order. Angelfall (book), Sandman (comic book), Supernatural (tv show), Red Dead Redemption (video game), Angel lore (Christian mythology), the Bible and Legion (movie). 
> 
> I'll be posting more indepth notes and writing recs for these sources on my Livejournal page at some point.


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